Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Read online

  “The Commissar is familiar with the operatives of ECHO. Where is Yankee Pride?”

  “I’m here on my own. Pride will be here soon. Listen, I’d like to speak with the Commissar. It’s important,” she added with a frown. “Is she here?”

  The man began to shake his head, but Ramona heard Vickie’s voice pipe through her ears, presumably also on the CCCP channels. “You have clearance to go through HQ, Detective. Unter’s just following procedure.” The man gave a crisp nod, stepping to the side just enough for Ramona to slip through. “Turn left at the first entry and head down the stairs. You know the way from there.”

  Ramona knew her way to the small room that held Alex Tesla’s desk. As the door clicked shut behind her, she realized that she didn’t know much more when it came to the communication device. Pride was the one who was able to authorize it and open the dialogue with the Metisans. Ramona didn’t have any sort of card or key that would open the desk, and she was fairly sure that Vickie couldn’t override the communicator to give another person access. She passed a hand over the smooth wood surface and sighed. The charter was still locked, Verdigris was tearing ECHO apart piece by piece, and she couldn’t do much without the assistance of an actual metahuman with some measure of authority.

  “Well, what do I do now,” she muttered aloud. “Wait for Metis to call me?”

  The surface of the desk shifted, the two antennae rising and the blue lattice connecting rapidly. Ramona pulled her hand back from the desk and held her breath. As before, the semblance of a severe man with a starched collar and impeccable hair emerged from the field between the wires. It shifted and blinked, features relaxing in recognition at Ramona.

  “Detective Ferrari. You have need of assistance?” Nicola Tesla’s voice held a crisp yet congenial tone, as if he had expected her call and had been waiting for her. “Is Yankee Pride with you?”

  She shook her head, still amazed that the desk had responded to her voice. Ramona hadn’t thought that Victrix had overridden the box to allow more than just Pride to call Metis, but she had worked with the woman long enough to know that there was plenty she didn’t understand about magic. “No, sir. I came on my own. We found the charter and we spoke to Dixie Belle, but she said something about unlocking the charter and finding a good magician.”

  “And do you not have a mage with sufficient talent?” The blue mesh eyebrows came together in a show of concern. “I confess, the arcane is not my area of expertise.”

  Ramona shook her head. “No, we’ve got the best that anyone could ever want. The issue is that it requires authentication from both you and Mr. Marconi in order to begin the process, and our only direct connection is here.” She gestured to the desk and the walls of the small room. “Our resident magician is equally good with technology, but circumstances being what they are…”

  “You are serving as the operator for this call.” Tesla nodded crisply. “Very well. We will assist in this matter, provided that the charter is at the secondary location. You will need to maintain the connection here.”

  “Listen, there’s something I need to ask—”

  But Tesla wasn’t listening. He turned, fading slightly as if to call someone from another side of the room. Ramona watched as the more jovial face of Marconi appeared, blue wireframe eyes dancing. “Signorina Ferrari, a pleasure to see you once again. Yankee Pride is not with you?”

  “No, sir. I’m here on my own.” She waved to the walls before patting the back of the chair. “Playing the intermediary, as it were.”

  “Alone?” Marconi’s voice carried a hint of mischief as he feigned disbelief. “Truly a terrible thing to befall such a lovely lady as yourself. A moment, please? Nicola, he forgets the most important things sometimes…”

  “Sir? I don’t—” The wireframe disappeared from view and the image flickered once, as if someone had changed the channel on television set. What had been blue on grey-black was now full color on white, and a shirtless, upside-down Mercurye stared back at her. He blinked, eyes widening as he recognized Ramona’s face, and scrambled to right himself.

  “Rick? Rick, is that you? Can you hear me?” Excitement got the better of her and she leaned closer to the quantator. “Is that really you?”

  “Ramona? How did you hack into this? Is it over? Did we win?” He tapped once, a tinny sound that made the image shake. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  He motioned to the white walls and carpet. “Well, as you can see, I’ve got a break in my oh-so-busy schedule. I haven’t heard much from Mr. Tesla or Mr. Marconi since Yankee Pride made contact. Is it true that Verdigris is in control of ECHO?”

  “For now. We might have an out, but Victrix is working on it.” Ramona sat back as she realized that she was inches from the quantator. “How much do you know?”

  Mercurye shrugged, sitting on the floor and folding his legs beneath him. “Some. I heard that our Mr. Tesla was killed, and that Verdigris had a hand in it. I heard that the Metis group-think doesn’t want to help, but would rather wait and watch us like bad television. Other than that?” He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t hear a lot from the few who are allowed to talk to me.”

  “Well, what do you want to know?” She checked her watch, hoping that it would take Tesla and Marconi more than a few minutes to discuss whatever they were going to discuss. “I know it’s been a while, so ask away.”

  He frowned, shaking his head as he drummed his fingers lightly on his knees. “I don’t know where to start. What day is it, anyway?”

  She suppressed a chuckle. “Sunday.”

  “Felt like one. Guess my internal clock is still working. Is Pride still around at ECHO?”

  “Yeah, he’s still the face of things. We’ve been working with the Russians. They’re good guys, once you get used to the protocol and procedure.” Ramona lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Really, if you watched enough Rocky and Bullwinkle as a kid, they’re not hard to understand.”

  Mercurye laughed. “What about classic Star Trek? I always understood Chekov.”

  “Natalya would have made Chekov curl up in his chair and cry for his mother before they went to warp.” She giggled as his eyes widened at her attempt at Star Trek humor. She thought she caught a snort from Overwatch, but she didn’t want to disturb Vickie. “So, what else? These are pretty easy questions.”

  The image shifted and blurred as Mercurye moved in and out of the frame. He settled cross-legged on the floor, bare feet tucked underneath and looking like a New Age surfer-shaman. He pushed a hand through his hair and let out a long breath of air. “Well, I guess the most important one is, are we still winning?”

  Ramona considered how to answer. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want the man to lose all hope, either. “We’re still fighting,” she finally decided. “I don’t think any of us are ready to give up, especially with Verdigris waiting in the shadows. I have to tell you, it does get pretty difficult sometimes.”

  He nodded and rocked forward. “Yeah. Yeah, I bet it does. I don’t hear anything in here, other than these Metisans still don’t want to interfere in human-business. If you ask me, it’s not all that evolved and intelligent as they’re supposed to be.” Mercurye gave a bitter laugh and glanced to his left. “Then again, what do I know? I’m just the dumb jock.”

  “Don’t say that.” Ramona heard the words shoot out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She cleared her throat. Blush crept into her face as he grinned through the quantator at her. “I mean, you’re not dumb. You’re a metahuman whose abilities are mostly physical in nature, rather than being mental, but that hardly makes you a dumb jock.”

  Mercurye seemed content with that answer as he rested his elbows against his knees. “Nice to not to have to live up to a label, I guess. So, just how did you come up with an ECHO charter? Some top-secret clearance?” He leaned forward, eager as a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons.

  “Talked with Dixie Belle, a
ctually. She’s a sweetheart, full of fire and loads of ideas. Can you believe she actually…” Ramona trailed off, realizing that Mercurye stared at her with eyes as wide as saucers, his mouth hung open. “Rick?”

  “You actually got to meet Dixie Belle? The Dixie Belle? Dixie Belle, who helped to begin what we now know as ECHO?” He shook his head slowly. “Wow. She never comes out to the bigger events unless it’s some anniversary thing or commemoration, and she’s always surrounded by a full security detail. And you, you got to meet her? Face to face?”

  The awe in Mercurye’s voice made her smile. “Got to have tea with her, too. She and Pride together are something special, that’s for sure. Oh, and she knows about you, too.”

  “Dixie Belle knows who I am?”

  Before Ramona could feed the eager fanboy with even more about her visit, the image of Nicola Tesla replaced the view of Mercurye. The thin blue lines that composed his face made his cheeks and jawline seem especially sharp, and Ramona leaned back from the screen.

  “Where is the charter, Ms. Ferrari? We will need to establish a link with the system prior to beginning the necessary exercise.” The quantator lit up as Tesla spoke. “Your mage is aware of the technological considerations, yes?”

  Ramona took a deep breath. Bikinis to Eskimos, she thought briefly. “She is, yes. In fact, that is why she will be here momentarily, with Yankee Pride and the charter. For this to work, she needs to be as close to the quantator as possible, with as few…” She worked to come up with the right terminology that would make sense for both Tesla and the necessary ritual. “Barriers.”

  He nodded. “Excellent. As both myself and Mr. Marconi will be present, this should be relatively uncomplicated.”

  “Relatively, yes. At the same time, the rules of the charter’s unlocking require that there be one entity per conduit. Even though the quantator is here, we still need you present in a more tangible fashion.” Ramona leaned forward, her words firm and earnest. “We’re going to need to channel you through a separate host, rather than via the quantator in order to properly complete this ritual.”

  The blue wireframe stared at her, something like static causing the image to fuzz at the sharp edges of Tesla’s cheekbones and the end of his nose. The eyes flicked down, to the left, and then back to face her with an expression of annoyance and faint anger. “Channel.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And by ‘channel,’ I am to understand that my very nature, my consciousness, will require projection through a living being in the room as the ritual takes place?” He bit off the words crisply, his tone cool. “Is this correct, Ms. Ferrari?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His mouth drew tight; if Nicola Tesla had stood in front of her, Ramona thought she would have seen the thin arms cross over the front of an impeccably clean suit and the chin lift in a show of scientific arrogance. “Then you and your mage will need to investigate a second means of completing this ritual. Such an arrangement is not possible for myself.”

  Ramona froze. “With all due respect, sir? That’s not an option. We need you here to unlock the charter, and this is the only way that we can do it safely.”

  “Safely?” The quantator popped and crackled as the blue wireframe glared back. “Ms. Ferrari, you do not have any idea what would ‘safely’ constitute, considering my current form of existence. I am ‘safe’ because I am contained here, within Metis.”

  “But, Mr. Tesla. This is the charter that you yourself agreed upon! This is the foundation of ECHO!” Ramona’s voice rose in the small space. “Without this charter, the organization that you helped to create is going to fall into the hands of a madman!”

  Tesla glanced away, blue lines wavering. “I cannot participate in such a fashion, detective. To leave such containment would invite the possibility of erosion and possibly death.”

  Ramona drew a deep breath and stood, eyes closing briefly as she lay a hand flat against the surface of the quantator. “With all due respect, Mr. Tesla, that is a risk that the entire organization has taken in your absence. The minute that I walk out the door of this safehouse with the badge that bears the ECHO insignia, I take that risk on the walk back to the train, on the ride home, even while I’m sleeping in my barely slept-in apartment.” Her eyes narrowed, but she willed her voice steady in the role of the proverbial ‘good cop’ with a side of guilt trip. “I can promise you, your own nephew took that risk when he met with government agents who wanted to take hold of the organization, and I was with him when a half-dozen ECHO operatives defended him from a wave of Death Spheres and Kriegers.”

  Now she turned, and Ramona jabbed a finger at the floating head. “Every single day, there are dozens of ECHO operatives and civilians who are still clinging to those ideals that make up the institution—your institution—and you’ve got the nerve to sit back in your perfect little jar back in Metis and tell me that you can’t risk death?” She snorted and leaned down, her face so uncomfortably close that the wireframe of Nicola Tesla shrank back a bit. “Your nephew died protecting ECHO. My friends died protecting ECHO. I’m ready, if I need to, to die to protect ECHO. If you’re trying to invoke some bit about how you can’t risk death because you’re afraid to die or that you’re too important to risk it to save ECHO, then I may as well just hand Verdigris the keys and we all sit back with popcorn to watch the Thulians swarm the planet.”

  “Ms. Ferrari, you don’t—”

  “Coward.”

  The floating head twitched; the thin lines connecting the myriad of nodes became fuzzy for a split second. Ramona’s lip curled. “How do you think it makes me feel, knowing that I have to be the channel for some entity who knows how far away who only exists as a connect-the-dots hologram? Do you think I jumped at the chance to participate? Don’t you think I’m a little concerned that if this goes south, I have to deal with your consciousness behind mine for all eternity?” She jabbed a finger at the wavering blue head. “In case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Tesla, I’m the last so-called normal you have in this organization who has a clue as to what’s really going on and who wants to help.”

  The wireframe blinked, grew fuzzy, and slowly faded out.

  Ramona sagged against the quantator, hanging her head. This wasn’t what Vickie had asked her to do, and desperation had turned the negotiation into an argument. She expected the chirp of Overwatch through her inner ear at any time, chastising her for screwing up their one chance of getting Nicola Tesla to help them unlock the charter. Ramona halfheartedly scrolled through a list of possible outcomes, each one more hopeless than the last, so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost missed the hiss and crackle that preceded Tesla’s voice.

  “You are correct, Ms. Ferrari.” The blue mouth moved slowly, the words deliberate. “This venture is not without risk for the both of us. And yes, I had forgotten that you are the last remaining non-metahuman within the upper tier of the organization who understands the gravity of the situation.”

  “It’s not a badge I wanted to wear,” she offered softly.

  Nicola Tesla inclined his head, mouth drawn tight. “Nevertheless, I concede that your concerns are no less than my own. These processes that involve the arcane carry with them a certain risk, for all involved.”

  Ramona held her breath and nodded once, hope glimmering inside.

  “If you, in your current state, are willing to endure this risk, then I will do so as well. Given our respective circumstances, you have far more to lose than do I.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Ramona nodded politely, smile held in check. She kept her words short and gracious. “We will call you when ready.”

  The blue wireframe winked out, with Marconi’s faint laughter coming through before the quantator antennae sank back into the desk. She lifted her voice, a smile on her face. “Overwatch?”

  “Here, Detective. Whatcha got?”

  Ramona sank into the chair, relieved. “Bring it on. The Eskimos have their bikinis.”

  * * *

  Y
ankee Pride had obliged without any question or comment when Vickie hooked him up at the CCCP headquarters, although Ramona had seen him squirm a little when the optical piece found purchase behind his eyeball. Thanks to his weekly visits with Dixie Belle, he had the personal items that Vickie required. He offered them to her with a smile.

  Vickie stood just in front of the quantator like a priestess at an altar, head down, arms out at her sides, palms down. Then she dropped her arms about halfway, inverted her hands to palms up, and slowly raised them to shoulder-height again. The hair on the back of Ramona’s neck stood up as the cement floor crumbled in a very precise set of patterns to about an inch deep in lines about half an inch wide. It looked for all the world as if an invisible force was stamping a double circle, around Vickie and the quantator, with four smaller circles at equal intervals between the inner and outer circle. The quantator itself sat precisely in the middle of one of those four circles.

  “OK YP. You stand here, and hold your Mama’s hair.” She pointed at the one of the small circles immediately to her right, and Pride stepped gingerly into it, taking the lock from Vickie.

  “Now we get to play ‘ghost in the machine.’ Ramona, come over here, please.” Vickie crooked a finger at her. Ramona marveled at the change in the woman, when she was doing something she was the expert at. This was an entirely different Vickie, scarcely recognizable as the nervous creature that hunched her shoulders and tried to be invisible when more than three or four people were in the same room. Ramona stood in front of the quantator, and placed her hands on it where Vickie directed, trying not to shiver. “All right, Mr. Tesla,” Vickie continued as Tesla’s solemn wire-frame visage appeared between the antennae. “Are you ready?”

  “Are you certain this will work?” There was real fear in Tesla’s voice, and Ramona didn’t blame him. If this didn’t work…he’d die. Forever.